The Promises We Made
by redtrouble
Summary: [Shadowbringers spoilers!] The moment their eyes met, her heart slammed against her ribcage like a battering ram and she had no idea why. [f!WoL/Emet-Selch]
1. The Wheel Turns

**Author's Note:** Obviously, this story is pure spoilers for Shadowbringers so proceed at your own risk. Understanding of the expansion is a necessity for clarity, however, as many of the scenes are taken from game cutscenes but I do not cover every single moment. In this story, the Warrior of Light is a female Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te with black hair and silver-gray eyes. Her name is pronounced soo-LEE-yuh lay-yuh.

* * *

S'liya Lhea stared at the ceiling of her inn room at the _Pendants_, sprawled across her bed with the covers kicked off. She was unusually warm, even with the open window letting in a nice, cool breeze. She briefly wondered if the absorbed light of two Wardens had something to do with it or if it was just the weather of the First.

She sighed as she flopped onto her side and looked at the dark room, moonlight brightening the space enough to clearly see all of the furniture and decorations. Of all the thoughts to occupy her and keep her from sleep, only one was at the forefront of her mind: the Ascian called Emet-Selch. And not because he was an Ascian that had followed her to the first. Not because he was the architect of myriad designs to rejoin the worlds. Not because he was dangerous, not because he was her enemy, and not because he had announced his desire for cooperation between them.

The only thing she could not stop thinking about was how her heart had jumped inside her chest that first moment their eyes met.

S'liya replayed the moment over and over again, trying to figure it out. She had been feeling such relief upon finding the Crystarium at peace when she heard those soft-soled footsteps drawing closer. She turned and there he was, a tall figure casually strolling toward them, dressed neck to toe in black robes trimmed with white fur and accented by red sashes and gold ornamentation. His short, wavy brown hair had a streak of white on one side, framing the orb centered on his forehead that told her that, somehow, a Garlean had come to the First.

She tensed, brows furrowing. _How?_ And then she looked into his pale-yellow eyes and her heart began beating like a battering ram against a barricaded door.

Her first thought was that it was a warning of some kind—a premonition upon finding a Garlean in the First. But that theory didn't entirely make sense, as she knew he was Garlean before meeting his gaze. Later, when he had revealed himself, she decided it must be because he was an Ascian, but she had never had such a premonition before. Why would she suddenly start having them?

Then, of course, there was the knot that had appeared in her gut when Thancred insisted Emet-Selch go home and admit defeat, and he had coolly countered her Scion friend's rage.

"_Happy to let me go, are you?" Emet-Selch calmly asked. "Because the murderous glint in your eye suggests otherwise. Indeed, it is enough to make me think better of confronting you alone." There was nothing in his tone that suggested he actually believed he was outnumbered. He eyed them like they were petulant children. "Look, it did cross my mind to simply side with Vauthry and kill you all." He shrugged. "But that's no different than what Lahabrea did. And we all know how well that ended for him. And so…"_

_S'liya was so taut with tension that she wasn't entirely prepared for when he began walking toward her. Her friends behind her all took a step back but she was grounded, heart picking up speed as Emet-Selch slowly walked toward her._

"…_while it is liable to be troublesome," the Ascian continued, "I have settled upon a different approach…" He stopped in front of her and was so tall that she had to tip her head up to maintain eye contact. He grinned and twisted at the waist, lowering himself to be eye-level with her as he said, "Cooperation!"_

_He was so close to her that she could clearly make out the details of his face, could reach out and touch the wavy hair that fell across his forehead, see the tiny pearl swinging from his golden earring. She held her breath._

"_I will not raise a hand to hinder your hunt for the Lightwardens," he promised. "If you desire it, I will even lend you my knowledge and strength."_

S'liya sighed again and tried to scrub the frown off her face that the memory had created. Her heart had even started to thump harder upon remembering his face so close to hers. She twisted onto her other side, her long, black hair tangling uncomfortably around her shoulders. She had attempted to braid it before bed to keep it out of her way but it had mostly come undone.

She stared at the brick wall for thirty seconds before she grunted and hopped out of bed. She went to the dresser, plopped down, and frustratedly brushed out her hair then tried to braid it again. Normally, Alisaie or Tataru did it for her, but Alisaie had been too busy and Tataru was back in the Source…

S'liya's hands dropped to her lap as she stared glumly at her reflection. Her silver eyes stared back, the scar on her cheek stark in the moonlight, slicing through her Miqo'te facial markings. It had been five years she had been on Eorzea and with the Scions. It had been difficult to make a connection with any of them at first. It wasn't until after Haurchefant's death that she allowed the others close to her heart, that she viewed them as friends. And now she found she missed them. Missed the little moments, like Tataru humming as she gently brushed and braided S'liya's hair.

She pushed away from the dresser and went to the window, breathing in the fresh air. The night sky glittered beautifully. It had never occurred to her that she took such a sight for granted, not until coming to the First. But after everything she had seen and faced, she stared up at the night sky with a new appreciation, a new sense of wonder.

A cool breeze brushed up against her skin and she closed her eyes, inhaling deep. The Ascian's yellow gaze flashed in her mind and her heart slammed against her ribcage. She gasped and her eyes flew open to find stars winking at her.

Something in his eyes was familiar to her. She had never seen them before but she felt she knew them.

"_Our objective is the same as it ever was—though I daresay you do not know our motive."_

Something in his voice plucked a chord inside of her, and yet she was positive the sound was no more recognizable to her than any stranger's.

"_Just once…might we not seek to find common ground?"_

Had she known him under some other guise? Had they fought before? She didn't' think so but…what other explanation was there?

"_So come. Shed your preconceptions. See beyond the unscrupulous villains you take us for."_

Something in his words had made her want to believe him. Or was he just telling her what he knew she wanted to hear?

"_When all is said and done, we may find ourselves pleasantly surprised. The proud discoverers of a path of cooperation rather than opposition."_

As she debated the mystery of his familiarity, his words looped endlessly between her ears. He was right in that he and his kind had been taken for nothing more than villains, unscrupulous to say the least. But when he admitted his discomfort at being in the presence of a "famed Asian-slayer", she couldn't help but see a parallel between them.

And she had realized with a pang of shame that she did not know their motive, had been ready to attack him for merely appearing before her—all on the assumption that he wanted to kill her first. But "that was no different than what Lahabrea did," he had said. So, poisoned though it may be—and she would be a fool to think otherwise—the Ascian called Emet-Selch had come bearing an olive branch.

S'liya rested her head against the window sill with a soft thunk and tried to make sense of it all, but she always dead-ended at deception.


	2. In Good Faith

They had been in mourning when the Viis escorted Emet-Selch onto the pavilion, his tone light as he joked of the embarrassment of his predicament. S'liya wouldn't lift her gaze. Even as her chest ached in sorrow, her heartbeat picked up at the sound of his voice. Not with the usual, excited canter, but in longing for something she doubted he could give, doubted her ability to receive from him—comfort.

"What trouble have you gotten yourselves into this time?" he asked after a beat of uncomfortable silence.

No one answered him. She sensed heads turn, eyes fall on her. She didn't want to have to be the one to explain. She didn't want to have to speak at all. She waited for someone to catch the hint—for Urianger to step in on her behalf. There was only silence.

She looked up and found a solemn expression on Emet-Selch's face, his eyes trained on her. She thought about the whole story, the long and hoop-filled journey that brought them to this moment. Pointless. It all felt so pointless.

Her shoulders seemed to slump and her gaze dropped to the ground as she said, "Eulmore sniffed us out. Poisoned the Night's Blessed, threatened the rest. We wouldn't surrender and neither would they. So we came to Yx'Maja to find the Lightwarden. Discovered it might be hiding in the Rak'tika Falls. The path was sealed." Broken sentences. That's all she was good for. Was any of this important? Did he care? Her mind was fragmented, constantly replaying Y'shtola's leap, her smile, her fall…that strange wind… "We went to the Astropolis to open the path. Eulmore followed." Her fingers tightened into fists. How had Ran'jit broken through the line so quickly? How had he traversed the Astropolis as fast as they had? "We fought. A security measure was triggered. We became trapped." Trapped with the Eulmore dogs. "One tried to bargain. The antidote for their lives." She frowned. "Spare them to spare the Night's Blessed…"

The way he had begged them, the antidote trembling in his hand—he was afraid, even with Ran'jit standing nearby. He was afraid of them. Of her. But Ran'jit refused his own ally's compromise. Killed him himself. How could he? How _dare_ he? They were dying in droves and he murdered him for wanting to survive, for being willing to spare other lives! And then Y'shtola jumped…

"S'liya!"

She sucked in a breath and her head snapped up, eyes locking onto Emet-Selch's pale and curious gaze. Thancred's hand was on her shoulder and her head snapped in his direction as she realized he had spoken her name. Realized she was so tense, she was shaking. Her skin was glowing with light. Air rushed out of her in shock. She relaxed her fists, took a deep breath, and felt the tension slowly ease. The light dimmed and died. Thancred removed his hand. She looked at Emet-Selch but he only stared, a knowing look on his face.

Embarrassment filled her at the loss of control. She hadn't lost control like that since _he_ died… She saw herself wailing over Haurchefant's corpse, screaming until her own power shattered glass, cracked stone, threatened to break the Vault apart… She thought she had grown since then. Had mastered herself. Why was she unraveling now?

"Ran'jit killed him," S'liya said in a voice like stone, once again staring at the ground. "Y'shtola dove for the antidote, threw it to me, but…" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "She fell."

Somber silence descended until Emet-Selch said lightly, "Well, well. What an intriguing turn of events. My condolences, by the way."

S'liya looked up in shock.

"'Tis never easy to lose the ones we love," he added.

She felt something rip open inside of her, an old pain aching like a fresh wound. She didn't know what anguish it nursed, didn't know if it came from her or was somehow connected to Emet-Selch. She didn't even know if he was being sincere or if he was mocking them. Beside her, Thancred stiffened, and she sensed his rage. Clearly, he thought the latter.

Emet-Selch shrugged at him. "Well, she is dead, isn't she? Wishing it were otherwise will not make it so."

As Thancred snapped back at him in all his anger, S'liya closed her eyes, tried to block out the tiresome arguments. Even as that old pain ached inside of her with surprising strength, Y'shtola's loss was all she could think of. She had smiled…and then she was gone. In the blink of an eye. And that strange gust of wind. There had been no such wind when the Eulmore soldier fell. So what had happened when Y'shtola disappeared into that darkness? She had been too distraught by her friend's death to think anything of it at the time, but now…

"Wind," she murmured and suddenly the arguing stopped.

"Wind?" Minfilia echoed, staring up at her with those big, blue eyes. "What wind?"

"Something strange happened when Y'shtola fell," S'liya explained. "A gust of wind rushed up out of the chasm."

"Flow," Thancred murmured, hope edging his tone. He leaned forward, urgent, excited. "The teleportation magick she used to spirit us away from Ul'dah after the bloody banquet! I recall a similar gale in the tunnel before it took effect."

"Interesting," Emet-Selch said thoughtfully. "I thought I sensed a brief disturbance in the Lifestream. How reassuring to know it was not my imagination." Everyone looked at him expectantly, hopefully. "I felt it only once, I should mention," he told them. "Which would suggest she is still adrift on its currents."

The hope dissipated as quickly as it had come.

"Then I fear she may yet be lost to us," Urianger said as he bowed his head, "as it was only by the grace of the elementals that she was plucked from that great aethereal river."

So that was it then. Y'shtola was alive…but beyond saving. S'liya's eyes shuttered in defeat.

"Oooh, very well," Emet-Selch sighed, and the noise caressed her heart. "I'll go and fetch her." The words drew every gaze on the pavilion, all eyes wide in shock. "Perhaps a clear and unambiguous act of kindness will serve to win the trust you seem so determined to deny me."

And then he grinned, though it lacked the usual smugness and, instead, held a measure of hope.

#

Awe.

It was the only word to describe how she felt when she watched Emet-Selch open up that gateway to the Lifestream and pluck Y'shtola's soul from the great river. Him standing there before the great glittering expanse, snapping his fingers like some kind of god, the wind rushing up around him—she was in awe.

It was a blur after that, a happy reunion full of unshed tears and laughter and smiles. Y'shtola was back to business in no time, eager to open the way to the Qitana Ravel, and then she was leading the charge back to Fanow. Only S'liya and Emet-Selch remained behind, watching them disappear over the hill.

"What a touching reunion that was," Emet-Selch commented. "It fair brought a tear to the eye. But, as we both know, such tender moments are nothing if not _momentary_. Before long, they will remember their many differences, and return to squabbling."

Her eyes slid to him in disbelief. "Says the arch Bringer of Chaos."

He suddenly laughed and it caught her off guard. It was an honest laugh, one filled with genuine amusement, not bitterness or sarcasm or ire. She found herself smiling.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear," he purred, eyeing her with something akin to approval. She neither intended to flatter him nor believed her words had gotten her nowhere—not with that look he was giving her, not with that smirk.

"Of course not," was her only reply, and his gaze heated just a bit. It intrigued her and scared her and she looked away. The tension between them released instantly.

"But seriously," he said, as though whatever had passed between them had not happened. "We Ascians do what we do for the greater good. For the Rejoining. Though we may sow the seeds of chaos, it is man who tends them, he who reaps their bountiful harvest."

There was no point in arguing and she had no argument to make. It was a "chicken and egg" scenario. Emet-Selch had, at the very least, hundreds of years of knowledge over her. Until she knew more, she could only throw tantrums about morality.

He started walking back toward Fanow and she realized with a start that he walked slouched, as though he had been carrying a heavy burden for millennia. And it struck her that he probably had. He was an Ascian, he was immortal, and he had been striving toward one aim for more time than she could fathom. And here he was, trying to win their trust—unsuccessfully—and he had plucked Y'shtola from the Lifestream and saved her, winning so little regard for such a significant act, and the least she could do was—

"Emet-Selch," she called and he stopped. When he looked at her, she nodded to him. "Thank you," she said sincerely, "for saving my friend." He tilted his head, surprise flitting over his features. "Thank you," she said again. "I am sure you will long outlive me, but for the rest of my days, however long or short they turn out to be, I will always remember what you did here. And I will always be grateful for it, regardless of whether we end as allies or enemies."

His expression changed and she couldn't read it. Happiness, thankfulness maybe, but something else… Was that sadness? Loneliness? And the glint in his eye told her he knew something she did not.

"…You're welcome," he said quietly.

He waited until she was next to him before he moved again and they walked side by side back to Fanow, not another word spoken between them.

Emet-Selch was not her friend. To say he was her enemy felt too simple. To say he was her ally felt naïve. Yet what he was, she could not say. Too familiar for a stranger. Too distance to be a companion. What was between them was something she did not understand, could not define, but set her heart to racing.


	3. The Burden of Knowledge

On the trek back through the Qitana Ravel, while the others talked amongst themselves, S'liya was focused inward. Toward the light. Something was wrong. She could feel it… Y'shtola and Urianger's argument back in the Greatwood weighed heavily on her, the conjurer's warning now at the forefront of her mind. She had taken on too much light. It was changing her. But into what…?

She was hot, so very hot, and every so often, there was a slice of cold that went through her, right through the center of her. The pain she had felt upon absorbing that third Warden had originated inside her, inside her blood, flowing through her veins, circulating her entire body. What was happening to her? Was she slowly becoming a Lightwarden?

S'liya knew, without a doubt, that she would not be able to absorb the fifth and final one and survive it… But she knew they would ask her to, and she knew that she would do it. And so she kept her head down and focused on breathing, on trying to appear as though nothing was wrong. That she felt fine. So they wouldn't worry. So the burden wouldn't fall to them. She could carry this to the end. If nothing else, she could do that.

Her ears twitched as familiar, soft-soled footsteps entered the cavern. He was here. He had come. Why had he come? She had hoped to have the whole complex to gather herself, to lock all of her exhaustion and her pain away. She took a deep breath to gather her weakness, to hold it in, and lifted her head. Tried to look the hero he kept calling her, even if it was said mockingly.

"Must you always linger after defeating your enemies?" Emet-Selch asked, striding deeper into the cavern. "Navigating these halls on foot is exhausting."

"Come to lead us to safety, have you?" Thancred sneered.

Emet-Selch shrugged. "I was _bored_," he scoffed. "But how is the hero of the hour?" His eyes found S'liya, slowly traveling the length of her, from her toes to her eyes. "Fighting fit, I see." He smirked. "Keep up the good work."

S'liya just stared, grateful her face didn't redden under his scrutiny or commentary, and more so that he didn't see what was beneath the surface. The others, however, bristled at his gaze and remarks.

"You're plotting something," Y'shtola observed tightly.

"Every hour of every day," Emet-Selch affirmed with a smile. "But never you mind about that. As I have told you a thousand times before: I like to watch. Nothing more." He turned to go but stopped as his eyes snagged a glimpse of the murals on the walls. The smugness in his expression instantly evaporated. "Ah," he gasped. "There is a sight to bring a tear to the eye."

"You recognize these scenes?" Minfilia asked.

"That I do." Emet-Selch turned toward them, his gaze locked on the paintings. "Indeed, there was a time when anyone and everyone would. Until one calamitous day when the world was divided across ten and three reflections, sundering the land and all who dwelled upon it. And the worst part?" His eyes closed, something like pain appearing in the lines in his brow. "No one could remember it. Not really. Just fragments and fleeting memories of an achingly familiar world…" His voice had taken on a somber lilt. "A vision shared of a paradise lost, preserved only in song and scripture and paint… Once upon a time." His eyes opened again, taking in the murals with something like awe. "Yet here we find ourselves again. To look, learn, and _remember_…"

There was a brief moment of silence and S'liya had no doubt that she and her companions were wondering the same things: could they trust in this change that had suddenly come over him? Could they believe anything that came out of his mouth? Was it even safe to ask?

And then Y'shtola said, "Then share with us the stories you know so well. We are listening."

Emet-Selch looked at each of them before nodding to himself. He pointed to the mural on the far left, the one of a city wreathed in flame.

"Before the great sundering, there was one world. A world that knew naught but peace and prosperity. Until it was faced with a crisis. Unprecedented, terrifying. Civilization found itself perched upon a precipice, staring into oblivion." He pointed to the next mural, the one of a purple, winged figure with its arms crossed in front of its chest and an orb like a halo over its head. "But through prayer and sacrifice, the will of the star was made manifest," he continued. "Zodiark was His name, and by His grace was the calamity averted."

A ripple of shock wound through the group.

"Zodiark?" Y'shtola echoed with dread. He merely nodded.

"A savior mighty and magnificent, worthy of reverence and gratitude…one would have thought." His tone took on a bitter quality. "Yet some thought otherwise." He pointed to the next mural. There stood the purple representation of Zodiark and an identical figure next to him painted in white. "From the fears of these naysayers would rise Hydaelyn—She who was to serve as His shackles. To bind Him and hold Him in check." He pointed to the final mural. In this painting, the white figure stood atop the purple one. "And so they fought, and they fought, and they fought. And in the end…Hydaelyn was victorious. With all her strength, She smote Him—dealing a blow so devastating that it split the very fabric of reality. And thus was Zodiark banished and His being divided."

Emet-Selch's hand dropped back to his side. S'liya saw how his shoulders were slightly hunched with that great, invisible weight he carried. The bitterness and loneliness on his face lingered for just a moment and then passed as he looked up at them.

"That concludes today's lesson on long-forgotten history. Though I imagine your Mother would offer a rather contradictory account. As is her wont."

"I'm sorry—I can only assume I misheard," Thancred began, "but it sounded an awful lot like you were implying both Zodiark and Hydaelyn are not gods, but—" He couldn't finish the thought, blasphemous as it was.

"What?" Emet-Selch asked, shrugging. "Not gods of the First? Is that what you thought these paintings depicted? Or…? Oh! Ohhh…" He nodded solemnly. "They are gods after a fashion, yes, but no different than the kind with which you are so intimately acquainted. Formed of faith and prayer, of conviction and devotion…" He looked at them. "The eldest and most powerful…of primals."

The discomfort in the room was palpable.

"You have spun quite a tale," Y'shtola said, and her voice trembled ever so slightly. "Yet you have not explained the role of the Ascians in all of this. How is it you are privy to ancient secrets lost to time?"

Emet-Selch laughed. "Finally," he said with such mirth. "_Finally_, you ask the right question! And shrewd questions warrant honest answers…" He bowed his head. "We Ascians know because it is our history. Our story." His yellow eyes lifted, locking onto S'liya. "It was we who summoned Zodiark—we natives of that sundered paradise."

That old pain she had felt in the Greatwood pulsed inside of her again, stronger than before. An oppressive sadness wrapped around her, mirrored in his eyes, the lines of his face. Her mind felt ripped open with his truth.

"Now do you see why we yearn for the Great Rejoining?" he asked sadly. He turned his back to them and the slump in his shoulders became so much more apparent. "For our world…for our people…for all creation to be made whole again." He turned his head ever so slightly and she glimpsed the pale sliver of his cheek behind his hair. "Wouldn't you wish for the same?"

And then he walked away, slowly, heavily, burdened and tired and ancient and anguished and lonely. No one said a word.


	4. The View from Above

S'liya stood off to the side and out of the way in a patch of shade as the people of Eulmore worked tirelessly alongside the Scions to get the ladder working. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, the heat making her uncomfortable. It wasn't Kholusia that was hot. It was her. The heat was coming from inside her and it was getting worse since the Qitana Ravel. She wondered if that meant the Light was taking over, if she was inevitably turning into a Warden.

She swallowed anxiously at the thought.

"Would you look at that?" Emet-Selch's voice broke her train of thought. She turned to see him appear at the gates, eyes fixed on the busy Eulmorans. Her heart started fluttering. "The citizens of Eulmore engaging in what can only be described as "manual labor". Who would have thought it possible?"

Emet-Selch looked at her, amusement flitting across his face. She didn't let her smile form, hiding her shared humor. Ever since their shared laughter in the Greatwood, she had been on edge. She didn't know what exactly had passed between them, but it had scared her. Her heart rampaging in her chest every time he looked at her was alarming enough. She couldn't let herself fall into any more familiarity with him, not when her sympathies were already swaying toward him.

"Do you know the most reliable way to deal with those who stubbornly refuse to see reason?" he asked as he began walking toward her, then casually answered, "You conquer them—crush them under your heel. Such was the trusted method of Allag, and one still favored by Garlemald." He slung his arms out. "But conquest is the _easy_ part. The true challenge begins once the dust has settled—quenching the glowing embers of animosity and maintaining a semblance of peace." He stopped in front of her. "This requires the conqueror to treat the conquered with dignity, and the conquered to let bygones be bygones. A difficult feat to achieve."

S'liya wondered if it was a hard lessoned learned. She was not there for his rule in Garlemald, but if the Empire of today was a reflection of the Empire ruled by Solus zos Galvus, she doubted he ever figured that part out when he was still acting Emperor.

He gave her a look as though he knew what she was thinking then continued with his thought. "But you have achieved just that," he said, folding his arms across his chest, "to my considerable surprise."

Her eyebrows shot up, lips parting just enough to take in a sharp breath. Was he being sincere or was he mocking her again?

"It's a compliment," he told her. "Take it."

This time, she couldn't help the small smile that formed. The moment she saw the same smile reflected on his face, something warm passing between them, she looked away, dodging his gaze. They stood in amicable silence for a moment, watching the workers shuffling back and forth on their various tasks.

Suddenly he inhaled deeply through his nostrils then exhaled on the words, "Ahh, the vibrant energy that fills the air when like-minded souls gather." His voice was soft, sincere. "To think back on that time before time fair brings a tear to the eye."

S'liya looked at him fully as a sudden realization came upon her. It was the third time he had mentioned crying—the first being when he saved Y'sthola and the second when he looked upon the murals in the Qitana Ravel. At first, she thought he was just using an expression, nothing more. Now, she believed he had meant it…

"What?" he asked in exasperation as he met her gaze. "You thought ancient beings like us incapable of crying? Well rest-assured, if _your_ heart can be broken, then so can mine!"

She gasped, struck by the pain on his face. This time, he was the one to avert his gaze. Was this also a trick, a manipulation? But his sorrow seemed so real.

"Back when the world was whole, we had family, friends, loves…" he explained softly. He looked up at the ladder, seeing something she could only guess at. "Men knew peace and contentment, and with our adamant souls, we could live for an age. There was no conflict born of want or disparity. Our differences paled into insignificance next to all we had in common. And then there was Amaurot…" His voice became raw. "Never was a city more magnificent. From the humblest streets to the highest spires, she fairly gleamed…" He eyed her. "Not that you would remember any of this."

Her eyes widened. "Remember?" she echoed.

"Never mind."

"Emet-Selch."

"Yes?" He arched his brow, something coy in his tone.

"What do you mean by 'remember'?"

"Never mind," he repeated and shrugged, only the faintest smile on his lips. "The point is, the world of old was a far better place than what we have now. I believe you would like it, having witnessed the things you have."

His yellow gaze focused on her, almost in invitation. Frustrated by his evasion, she huffed and closed her eyes, trying to imagine this city he spoke so highly of. And as a picture formed in her mind, the tension left her brow. When she met his eyes, she gave a small nod.

"It sounds wonderful," she agreed. Approval shone on his face.

"Remember," he said, "you are of the Source. Unlike the halfmen here, you stand only to gain. Should you survive the remaining calamities, you will become our equal. A complete existence in a complete world."

"And you would want that?" she asked before she could stop herself, wondering why an Ascian would seek his enemy's restoration. The look of surprise that came over him shocked her, more so when he looked away and that old pain that she had first felt in the Greatwood began throbbing in her chest. "Emet—"

His head snapped up and he feigned a smile. "Such talk is a pleasure for later," he assured her. "Back to work, hero."

Then he turned and walked away. His slumped shoulders seemed especially pronounced, as though the weight he carried had somehow grown heavier. S'liya frowned. Three times he had mentioned nearly being moved to tears. She realized with a start that he wasn't just hinting at his capacity for emotion, he was telling her blatantly that he _was_ feeling, had been feeling all along. Feeling something real, something important. But what?

_If your heart can be broken, then so can mine._

She started to go after him, to ask him what he meant by that statement, but stopped herself before she could take a complete step. Dangerous. This line of thought, of sympathy—it was dangerous. Why was he pulling her toward him? Why was her heart jumping for him? They were growing closer, beginning to tangle up as they spiraled toward what she could only believe was an explosively violent end. Why? Why was he steering toward her, his enemy?

Suddenly what he had said in the Occular rang between her ears: _Oh, don't look at me like that. You for whom I have only the highest expectations. Long have I awaited one who might brave a path of lesser tragedy. A resilient soul able to endure the necessary pain. I dare to hope that my wait is over._

He was tired and he was hurting and he was hoping to find someone who could endure this pain, someone who could do what he could not: walk a different path, one of "lesser tragedy". Did he no longer believe in his course? Was it because he had been tempered by Zodiark so long ago that he was incapable of committing to any other course but his current one? And did he really believe she was the one to do it or was he just manipulating her?

_By your fragmented existence, you continue to give rise to tragedies far crueler than any calamity,_ he had said, and he wasn't wrong. But to reunite the worlds, to murder millions just to rejoin them…

It was tragic. What had happened to the world, what he had endured, that he had lived so long, that the solution was terrible no matter the outcome—either they condone the Rejoining and let countless lives be destroyed or they kill the last of the ancient beings and let the worlds remain fragmented.

S'liya stared after where he had gone, the weight of his burden pressing down on her heart.


	5. The Feelings We Carry

The boarded-up windows of her inn room in Amity blocked out all but the faintest trace of light, and could not entirely mute the sound from below as people worked tirelessly on constructing the Talos that would carry her to Mt. Gulg. They had bid her rest and given her a private room but, after an hour of tossing and turning, she had given up any notion of sleep.

It was the heat. It was oppressive. She had worn only her underwear and a thin camisole to bed, but her skin felt on fire. She had kicked the covers off within the first ten minutes of laying down, but could not cool down enough to sleep.

It was the heat that kept her awake…and the three thoughts that endlessly circled her mind like water around a drain—killing Vauthry, the build-up of Light inside of her, and…

And Emet-Selch.

Her heart cracked like thunder in a storm as his visage appeared in her mind, as it had since they had first met. Though she still had no answer as to why it had started happening, she knew by now that at least one of her emotions was desire. Desperate and consuming.

She gasped a breath, the heat stifling her, and tried to think of something else but only his face came to mind. She closed her eyes, tried to listen to the muffled sounds below, but the memory of his voice echoed between her ears. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, fingers idly tapping on her exposed stomach, inching lower.

"Oh my, am I interrupting something?" that voice purred from the shadows. Her gaze snapped to the corner where Emet-Selch had appeared, strolling into her room with his usual swagger and smirk. Her heart slammed against her ribcage and she bolted upright.

"What are you doing here?"

"I got bored watching from the shadows so I came to talk. Why?" His eyes drifted down toward her stomach. "I really _was_ interrupting?"

She ignored his provocations and simply stared at him, a silent command to get to the point—and not at all because she could not think of a decent rebuttal, because her mind went blank around him.

"What?" he scoffed as he came to stand at the foot of her bed. "I couldn't sleep." He briefly smiled, as though it were an inside joke. She wondered if Ascians actually slept. "And from the looks of it, neither could you. Something weighing heavy on your mind?"

There was no way she could divulge her thoughts. Killing Vauthry was an empty topic. Her fear of the Light building up inside of her would reveal a weakness she could not afford to show—not to him or anyone, not even herself. And her obsessive thoughts of him? Never!

"What do you want?"

"I told you: to talk. I've answered your questions. It's time you answer one of mine."

She wracked her brain for an answer, annoyed with herself for playing his game yet unable to stop. It was foolish. She was foolish. And ashamed. He was an Ascian. He was her enemy. He would betray her, somehow, in some way. It was only a matter of time.

His eyebrows lifted at her silence, amusement flitting across his face.

"What did you mean when you said that I wouldn't remember Amaurot?" she finally asked.

His grin deepened. "Still thinking of that, are you? I told you not to worry over it. You have more important concerns right now."

She hated that deflection, and it must have shown on her face because he shrugged and sighed.

"It's not as though I'm keeping secrets," he said placatingly, "merely that there is little point explaining at present."

S'liya focused on his eyes, so hard to read in such low light. "Then tell me something."

"You're wearing naught but your underwear," he said. She glared at him but kept her mouth closed, knowing full well she had walked into that one with her failure to specify. "It's distracting," he added. When she didn't so much as blink, he snorted and asked, "What would you like to know?"

"Your real name."

And just like that, his amusement was back, coupled with some other emotion she couldn't put a name to. "So persistent…" He took one step closer to her, his robe brushing up against the footboard. "Tell me, hero, what would you do with my true name?"

"Use it," she answered immediately. "As you should use mine."

There was laughter in his tone as he asked, "Don't like being called hero all the time? How droll." He waved away the sentiment. "Very well. _S'liya_."

Her name from his lips hit her like a blow to the gut. She sucked in a small breath and hoped he didn't notice the effect it had on her. With the way he was grinning with that half-lidded stare, she doubted he had failed to see.

"You win. I will tell you my name…someday. In the meantime, Emet-Selch is as good as any name. Or, if it is too many syllables for you, you may call me Solus. I spent long enough answering to it, and this _is_ his image I'm wearing."

S'liya frowned. This playful banter and refusal to answer her questions only served to remind her how little she could trust him and how much she wanted to. She was at her breaking point. He seemed to recognize her seriousness because his grin faded.

"What is it?" she asked. "What are you waiting to see happen before you turn on me?"

He merely stared at her in the heavy silence.

"It doesn't matter," she continued bitterly, shaking her head. "I only know one way forward and, if you gave me another, I might think you were trying to trick me. Maybe you are either way." She got to her knees and straightened, but with his height, he still towered a full head over her. "I know you're using me—somehow." Her heart was dancing, her gaze locked on his. Her emotions swayed toward him like seaweed in a current. She was a fool. "I don't even care anymore…" Such a fool. "I feel—" The words died on her tongue as she realized she had almost given him that little kernel of weakness—what he had become to her.

One of his eyebrows quirked. "You feel…_what_…exactly?" he asked slowly, deliberately. Her breath almost fluttered as she drew it in.

"Never mind," she said as casually as she could manage, using his response to her question about remembering Amaurot. His expression hardened, a scowl forming. "It's not that I'm keeping secrets…" She gave a small smile as his eyes narrowed, frown deepening. "It's just there's no point explaining it."

His hands suddenly flashed out and grabbed her shoulders, crushing her against him. His face was inches away from hers and she could feel his breath on her lips.

"Now that is a very bad mouth," he growled.

She was frozen, staring up at his yellow irises with eyes as big as saucers. Her heart was racing and she was terrified he could feel it. Terrified of his proximity. Terrified by how fast it had happened, how little resistance she offered. Terrified by how excited she was.

"You haven't pushed me away," he mused. She knew it was telling, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "So, let us discuss how it is that you _feel_." He wrapped an arm around her and lifted her up to draw her flush against him, their noses practically touching. "Shall we?"

She knew if she pushed him away that he would let her go. But when she did not react at all save to drop her gaze to his mouth, he kissed her and her mind exploded into a kaleidoscope of color as pleasure shot down her spine. Her arms wrapped around him, fingers tangling first in his coat and then in his wavy hair. She tightened her grip and he groaned into her mouth as they fought to devour one another.

His fingers roamed the curve of her spine and she arched into him. The gesture made the heat inside of her intensify. She was so hot—she was going to suffocate, to combust. His hands slid over the curve of her hips and pulled her tighter against him. A strangled moan escaped her throat, alarming her enough that she pushed out of his grasp with such suddenness that she fell back onto the bed.

She stared at him and him at her, both panting. His eyes were hooded with desire and her first thought popped out of her mouth before she could contain it.

"Why?" she asked. Why was he here with her? He was immortal. He had had eons of his choice in women. Why was he here with _her_? She couldn't help but see a scheme in it, and yet the desire was plainly written on his face.

"Why?" he echoed as he pulled off his jacket. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. "Because I, too, _feel_ something." He slipped his gloves off, exposing long, thin fingers. "And right now," he removed the metal collar at this throat, "that something is a desire to feel _you_." He stepped around the footboard, unclasping the golden belt around his waist. It clanked on the floor and his robe fell open. "To experience the pleasure of your skin against mine." He shrugged out of his robe and began undoing the buttons on his thin, white shirt as he drew closer, his gaze fixed on hers. "And you feel the same."

She watched the shirt slowly come undone, felt her pulse quicken at the sight of his bare chest beneath, but she had never before felt so paralyzed by her own emotions and merely stared.

"Still uncertain, are we?" he asked as his gaze raked her form, settling on her eyes. "Still wondering: why you? Why not some other woman? Is it because you are the Warrior of Light? Because our kind have been enemies for so long? Am I scheming something by bedding you? Or is it mere conquest of one so adamant to despise me that drives me?"

S'liya immediately spun to the other side of the bed and jumped to her feet, not entirely sure what she intended to do—run, fight?—but needing to act, to get out of this vulnerable position. She was far too exposed. But the moment she sprang up, he was a wall in front of her. How had he moved so fast? Trapped between him and the bed, she just glared at him. He offered her one of his arrogant smirks.

"I have my reasons, none of which are anything you're thinking," he told her. His eyes flitted across her face, as though taking in each detail. His hand lifted, thumb lightly tracing the scar on her cheek. "I'm far more interested in your reasons. What could motivate one such as you to be here with someone like me—what was it you called me?" He smiled fondly. "Oh, yes. The arch Bringer of Chaos. Whatever would your friends think if they knew their precious Champion of Light bed an Ascian?"

She slapped his hand away from her face. His brows dipped, a sly expression forming.

"Changed your mind?" he asked. She should have said yes but she couldn't respond. "No?" He slipped his arms around her, pulling against him. "Good," he murmured.

And when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

#

In the aftermath of what proved a pleasurable and exhausting night, S'liya found herself collapsed atop Emet-Selch, listening to the steady beat of his heart while his fingers lazily drew lines across her back. They had been laying there long enough for their sweat to dry and pulses to slow. It was somehow more intimate than anything they had done up to this point and yet she felt comfortable. At peace.

She looked up at him, at his disheveled hair, his closed eyes, and the serene expression on his face. Something inside her stirred in a way that unsettled her. She had only ever felt it with one other person—this…affection. But why was it happening now? Why with _him_, of all people? Why an Ascian?

"We should do this again," Emet-Selch murmured, voice raspy and deep. She couldn't stop herself from laughing, a soft but happy sound. He opened one eye to peek at her and she tried to stifle her smile without much success. He chuckled, his mouth curving into one of his self-satisfied smirks. "Your brooding silence serves you well but your smiles are far more effective."

This time her smile did fade, heart once again thumping wildly against her chest. He looked at her knowingly, still caressing her bare skin. She wanted to say something but words were stuck in her throat. _Don't betray me_, her thoughts screamed against all logic. Of course, he would betray her. He was an Ascian. She understood his motivations now, even sympathized with him, but knew their methods would take them down separate paths. And yet she wished they wouldn't. She didn't know what this thing between them was, how or when it had even started, but she wasn't ready for it to end.

"I'm surprised you haven't kicked me out," he teased her. "What would your friends say if they barged in to wake their hero and found her lying in bed naked with an Ascian?"

"I'll warn you if I hear them coming," she said.

"How considerate."

Her brows lifted. "Do you want me to kick you out?"

"Of course not," he answered, his hand sweeping low on her hip to curve teasingly onto her thigh. She couldn't help the shiver that traveled up her spine.

"Then…were you hoping to get caught?" she asked innocently.

He challenged her with a pointed yet playful look. "I doubt _my_ reputation is in danger of falling any lower."

She laughed. "And what _would_ your Ascian associates say if they caught you in bed with the Warrior of Light?"

"There aren't many of us left, you know." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Something to do with meeting you…"

She suddenly felt sheepish. "It's not like I had a choice…"

"Yes, Lahabrea admittedly forced your hand quite a bit. I am sure he would have viewed our circumstances as some scheme and applauded me for it. Elidibus, the insufferable bore that he is, would likely conduct a business meeting to discuss it."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Discuss what?"

"How I intend to use you to further the Rejoining, of course."

"I would also like to know the answer."

He smirked. "Of course, you would."

"Emet-Selch!" she playfully scolded him.

He chuckled and put his mouth against her ear. "Back to my title, are we?" he purred. "You seemed to enjoy my other name so much more."

Her entire body blushed as she instantly recalled their lovemaking and the way she had called out "Solus" over and over again. She wasn't sure why it embarrassed her after the fact.

"If you had told me your real name," she murmured, "I would have screamed that instead…"

He made a noise akin to a growl deep in his throat. "Do not tempt me, my dear, or your friends shall discover us doing far more than sleeping."

She blushed even deeper but kept her mouth shut, biting her lip in a futile effort to control her smile. They resumed their silence. He closed his eyes, content to draw lines on her back. Her mind gradually drifted from further scandalous entanglements with him to their brief conservation and what he'd said about there not being many Ascians left. Of course, she didn't feel guilty for her role in that. They _had_ forced her hand, committing such atrocities that there was room for no other course of action but one ending in violence. But she couldn't stop herself from feeling saddened by the loneliness he must feel. He had lost…more than she could ever conceive of. And thousands of years later, she had unwittingly taken more from him.

_If your heart can be broken, then so can mine,_ he had said. Who had he lost? Friends, of course. Family. A wife, perhaps? Children? Watched their souls shatter into fourteen fragments, and not one of them knew him for who he was. For what they were. The thought, she realized with a somber sting, was enough to bring a tear to the eye.

"I'm sorry," she rasped, feeling emotion burning in her eyes.

"For?"

"For your loss…"

His hand stilled their strokes and they stared at one another.

"For Amaurot," she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "For your friends, your loved ones, your—" his way of life, his aspirations, his hopes and dreams, his "—everything."

She wanted to tell him about Haurchefant. How, a few years ago, she had lost her very first friend and it had driven her to a destructive brink she almost didn't come back from. But to compare that loss with the enormity of his felt like comparing the size of an ant to that of their star. So she said nothing, did not pretend to relate, only tried to convey her sympathy for his situation.

Understanding passed silently between them.

His palm flattened on her back and held her against him. He pressed his face into her hair and they stayed like that for a long time. After a while, she found her eyelids growing heavy, threatening to close against her will.

"I wish you would remember," he whispered.

"Remember what?" she mumbled against his skin. He gently turned them over and brushed the hair from her face.

"My promises," he replied. She wondered what promises he was talking about but was too tired to ask. And then sleep claimed her.

When she awoke, the sheet was pulled over her naked form and Emet-Selch was gone.


	6. Extinguishing the Last Light

Pain shattered her, drove her to the ground. A splitting sound divided her head, ice lancing through her molten mass. Coming undone. She was coming undone, dissolving in the burning sea of light.

She heard the shot as if from far away, submerged in water. She saw the blur of G'raha Tia fall, and knew _his_ figure even from this distance. She did not know what had happened or what the warbled shouts were about, but she knew what she had feared had come to pass.

Emet-Selch had betrayed her at last.

Her whole body was on fire, nearing implosion, except for that streak of impossible cold right through her center, rising out of her. She doubled over, spitting up shards of liquid light that splattered on the ground, frigid as the icy seas surrounding Ishgard.

She heard his voice between the clamoring of light in her ears. Could not understand him. Could barely lift her chin to look at him. He was a glowing blur, in and out of focus, wreathed in light like an angel.

He knelt down before her, spoke words she could not hear, the distant voice a caress against the pain. _Please,_ her thoughts screamed. Not to help her. Not to save her. Just… _Not yet!_ But it was too late.

She folded over as his feet left the ground. She looked up, light overtaking her vision. He was a speck above her, watching her. She tried to call out but could not hear her own voice. Another spike of cold flew out of her in specks. Her arms gave out and she crashed to the ground.

Everything went white.


	7. Shadowbringers

It was not what she wanted, but it was what she knew would have to happen. It was what she knew he would make her do. Still… It wasn't what she wanted. She had hoped they would be able to come to terms, a stalemate of sorts, if nothing else. She understood his pain. She truly did. She wanted to help him. Somehow. She could never condone the mass murder of the calamities, but she wanted to do _something_ to help him. He was the most tortured soul she had ever met. Had Lahabrea been inflicted with such anguish? He had not seemed tormented by his loss, but how could he not have been? Had it driven him mad? Was Elidibus just as aggrieved?

It didn't matter. Lahabrea had given her only one way forward. And now Emet-Selch had as well. To fight. To die or destroy. She didn't want to do it…but there was no other way.

With Ardbert's soul rejoined with hers, she felt stronger. Clearer. More complete. So she met his pale-yellow gaze with that strength, let it shine out of her. His eyes widened when he looked upon her, shook his head in disbelief.

"I challenge you, Emet-Selch," she said.

"Very well," he growled. "Let us proceed to your final judgment." He started walking toward her. "Come! Let us cast aside titles and pretense, and reveal our true faces to one another!" He gathered his power into himself and the Ascian symbol glowed brightly over his face. "I am Hades!" His voice was deep and gravelly. "He who shall awaken our brethren from their dark slumber!"

Something inside her clicked into place at the sound of his name. Something old and familiar. Suddenly she knew what had made her heart beat so wildly since their eyes first met. Knew what this feeling was, this deep and overwhelming affection that he had awoken inside her.

"Hades," she whispered as champions beyond the rift appeared around her in bursts of white. Her fingers tightened into fists as he broke out of the shell of Solus zos Galvus. The power that roared around him was devastating, its crushing weight staved off by the light blazing inside her.

They would fight. There was no other course. He had committed to his path and so had she.


	8. The Dying Gasp

S'liya Lhea squinted against the bright flash, desperate to keep her eyes open, desperate for any sign of him. When the glow dissipated, there was a figure before her. She held her breath…and found herself in a bubble of calm. The sky was grapefruit orange with a rising sun spearing through thick clouds. Dispersed light glittered all around them. Just the two of them. Her companions had vanished.

But he was standing there, still wearing his Ascian robes, a cowl hiding his face, not a wound in sight. She met the stare she knew was fixed on her from beneath that hood. Waited. He obliged her, slowly lifted his hands and peeled back his cowl. There was such solemnity in his face. And, for the first time since she had met him, he was standing tall.

"From the moment I saw you," he murmured, "I knew who you were. I knew that you were her. And I knew you wouldn't remember me. But, oh…" His eyes softened as he took her in. "How I wanted it to be true." He smiled and closed his eyes. "I was drawn to your soul. Fragmented, but unmistakable. Even as a mere shade of your former self, you are," he inhaled then whispered, "inspiring." He opened his eyes and looked at her again. "And now you are one soul closer to being whole." His eyebrows dipped as a tiny bit of hope filled his eyes. "Do you…remember?"

"Amaurot?" she asked. "No…" She saw that hope begin to dim. "I don't remember the calamity that destroyed it or the summonings that led the world to shatter. I don't remember the people, who I was, or…your promises…"

The hope in his eyes disappeared. He hung his head with a single nod, as though he expected such answers. She wished she could have said yes. She desperately wanted to remember, to give him that hope, but there was nothing… Nothing save for a feeling.

"The only thing I know," she began, feeling a nervous flutter in her chest, "is that I love you."

His head snapped up, eyes wide in shock.

"And I don't know why," she continued. "The first moment our eyes met, my heart jumped. I thought it was a warning. Because you were dangerous. But every time after, my heart raced in your presence. When you looked at me. At the sound of your voice. And I…_felt_…for you. Intensely. Overwhelming."

The hope had returned to his eyes, bright and glistening.

"I knew you were my enemy. I kept telling myself this, over and over. You're an Ascian. You're lying to me. You will betray me if I give you even the smallest part of me! And even as I fell deeper in love with you, I knew I was a fool. I was waiting for you to turn on me, waiting and hoping _not yet_. I wasn't ready. Because this feeling only continued to grow." She frowned and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "Is this feeling a memory? Or is it my own?"

He started walking toward her. She met his gaze, her heart hammering against her ribcage, and saw his face was a picture of torment.

"Who were you to me," she whispered, "that I would feel this way?—beyond all sense and reason." She swallowed. "Who was I to you?"

He surged forward, his hand reaching toward her. He cupped her cheek as he drew her closer. "My wife," he rasped as his lips closed over hers.

Her heart leapt into her throat as an intense feeling of love crashed upon her like a great wave. She threw her arms around his neck and answered his kiss with all of the emotion bursting out of her, now with a name to it. His arms tightened around her, crushing her against him, and the feeling was so familiar that she melted into the naturalness of it. Forgot her confusion, forgot herself.

When he broke the kiss, he was panting against her lips. "You loved me," he whispered against her mouth, each word laced with awe, "across the very fragmentation of your soul." He kissed her again, a hard press as he drew her closer. "And I have loved you," he growled as he broke away, "across _eons_."

He clutched her against him, rested his cheek atop her head. A final embrace. She could feel his aether leaking out of him, his presence slipping away.

"I know why you did it," he murmured. "I always knew. And I understood. I never hated you for it. Never blamed you. I knew why. Because you wanted to save me." He tightened his grip on her, desperation filling his voice. "I want you to know, I did it for you, too. To save you. I did it for you…"

Tears fell freely down her cheeks as light began to envelope them.

"Then," he whispered, "and now."

Everything went white.

When at last she could see, he stood across from her, a cowl over his head, just as he had moments before. Only this time, there was a gaping, glittering hole through his center. That bubble of calm, that precious stolen moment, was over. He reached up to pull the hood away from his face and looked at her, a picture of solemnity, of serenity.

"Remember," he said. "Remember us. Remember that we once lived."

Her heart ached as though cleaved in two. She nodded her promise, all she could manage as emotion swelled inside her, threatened to explode out of her throat. And then he gave her one of his crooked grins, kind and accepting and…

And then he began to break apart.

A strangled cry broke out of her as she lurched forward. She reached out to him as he began to fade. There was a fond warmth in his eyes as his grin softened. She lunged to grab hold of him and fell to her knees, hands slapping the ground, as he dispersed into a hundred thousand motes of light.

"No, no, no, no," she repeated, grabbing at the motes, trying to collect them, to draw him back, but they passed through her hands and floated upward. "No, no…" She tried one last time before her hands smacked against her thighs. "No…" she hiccupped, staring at the place he had been standing, gasping in disbelief.

Teardrops splattered her knees.

"No," she whispered, so quiet that she almost didn't hear herself. They had only just found each other. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be the end. Not after everything he had endured to bring them to this moment. Not when they had only just found each other!

She tilted her head back and an anguished scream ripped out of her. Then she doubled over, forehead pressed to the ground, and sobbed.

* * *

**Author's Note:** For those of you who are interested, the song "Without You" by Ursine Vulpine and Annaca fits these two very well, generally from S'liya's perspective and particularly this scene. I highly recommend giving it a listen, especially if you feel like being extra depressed!


	9. A Prayer for Forgiveness

When Alphinaud walked into the Occular, looked around, and asked, "Where is she?", Y'shtola cast her eyes to the ground. No one responded immediately, not Urianger or Thancred or even the Crystal Exarch. Alisaie was the one to finally answer.

"You know where," his sister said somberly.

Amaurot. She was always in Amaurot these days. She had returned to the Crystarium with the group, had allowed the people of the First to cheer and celebrate their victory, and had even made her appointed trip back to the Source to inform Tataru of all that had happened. She had been quiet, almost vacant, but she had done it.

For a moment, Y'shtola had believed her friend would be alright.

And then she had found out that S'liya had returned to the First and, without informing even a single Scion, had gone directly back to Amaurot and disappeared into the city.

Guilt plagued her as she remembered that awful day when they had faced Emet-Selch and, through their combined strength, defeated him. Relief had penetrated her every pore as he dispersed into a shower of light. And then her friend had fallen, had screamed, and _sobbed_. "Bring him back!" she cried in pain and desperation. "Please! Bring him back! Save him!"

Y'shtola had been so shocked, she hadn't been able to react at first. Not until S'liya's voice broke as she begged them, _begged them_, "Please, _please_, save him!"

"It's too late," Y'shtola whispered. Urianger had looked at her in surprise and knew the lie for what it was.

Y'shtola did not know if an Ascian's soul could be retrieved in the same way other souls could. She did not know if it was truly too late. She was just unwilling to try. Not an Ascian. Not even for the Ascian who had saved her own life. Not even for _her_, her friend and ally and the woman upon whose shoulders she had placed burden after burden.

Even though Urianger had not disputed her, she felt responsible for the lie. For robbing her friend of her one wish. She could not bring herself to regret her actions. Emet-Selch had been an Ascian and a danger to the Source and its thirteen reflections. An enemy of all life. And somehow, something much, much more to her friend…

She did not know how deep the feeling went, what their relationship had truly been, but the raw anguish in her friend as she sobbed into the ground was enough to break her heart. But not enough to change it. And so she did not seek her out. Could barely lift her gaze at the mention of her name with all the guilt that filled her.

"Does anyone know exactly what happened that day?" Thancred asked. No one said anything. "I mean, I had no idea they were…that close."

"No, neither did I," Alisaie admitted. "But I hated seeing her like that. Was there really nothing we could have done?"

"No," Y'shtola answered immediately. "Not for an Ascian. It's better this way. She will be fine."

"Will she?" Alisaie exclaimed. "She begged us to help her! She was _weeping_! I have never seen her like that!"

"I have," Alphinaud said, and all eyes turned to him. He was frowning. "Once. When Lord Haurchefant died. She went to a dark place where no one could reach her." He gritted his teeth. "I could do nothing for her…"

"What brought her back?" Alisaie asked when no one else had the courage to do so.

"Killing the man who took his life."

"But…she was the one who killed Emet-Selch," Ryne pointed out. Alphinaud only frowned.

"By the Twelve," Y'shtola gasped. "You don't think—"

"No," Alphinaud answered quickly. "But I don't know what it will take…or how long it will take. We must give her some time."

"But we need her now," Thancred argued. "Ryne detected something out in the Empty. If it turns out to be a Lightwarden or something like it, she is the only one who can face it."

"Give her some time!" Alphinaud shouted, taking them all aback.

Of all the Scions, Alphinaud had been the closet to S'liya and was particularly protective of her. They had been on a long journey together, from escaping Ul'dah and spending long months as refugees together, to ending the Dragonsong War and uniting Ishgard with the last of the dragons. She couldn't blame him for his outburst.

"I will go to her," he said at length, "if the situation becomes urgent…but not a moment before."

Everyone seemed to silently accept his conditions. Even Alisaie, who was probably just as worried as her brother. After their adventure across Doma and Ala Mhigo, Alisaie had quickly become the second-closest of the Scions to their Champion of Light.

Y'shtola wondered if she had made a terrible error in not trusting her friend that day, in fighting for her wish the way S'liya had fought tirelessly for them. She had ever been their champion, their great hope, their victory. And now she seemed…broken. Shattered in a way Y'shtola was not sure could be repaired. And she had no doubt that they would have need of their champion again soon. But would she answer the call? Would she be able to?

_What have I done?_

Y'shtola closed her eyes and prayed the Twelve would forgive her.


	10. The Promises We Made

_Wife._

She wandered.

_Wife._

She didn't know for how long—hours, days. She just wandered. At first, she just wanted to disappear into Amaurot, his heart—just to feel a little closer to him.

_Wife._

She had been his wife. All those eons ago, when the world was whole and she was a complete person, they had been married. They had loved one another. And then she had been fragmented and forgot him entirely.

She still couldn't remember. Even knowing that she was his wife, she had no memory of it. She was still just S'liya Lhea, Miqo'te and Echo blessed, a Scion of the Seventh Dawn and the Warrior of Light.

And yet when she looked into his eyes that first day, her heart had jumped. Because deep down in her soul, she knew who he was. She knew his soul, knew it belonged to her, knew that she loved him.

_My wife._

She wished she could remember. Remember him, remember their life together, remember Amaurot. And yet…she also wished she had never found out who he was. Had never met him. Never knew this overwhelming love and longing—these feelings that were hers and yet felt like they belonged to another person. Everything had changed. _Everything. _Now that he had come into her life, she could never go back to person she was…

Because now that he was gone, she had never felt more alone.

_Who was I to you?_

_My wife._

So she wandered, desperate to be close to him, desperate for any trace of him. And then she looked for Hythlodaeus, seeking answers, but she could never find him. She listened to the other shades for a time, to immerse herself in a culture and people that he had fought to save, to understand him just a little bit more.

And then she found the building where he chose to dwell. Unrestricted access, that's what he'd given her. She found herself riding an elevator up, up, up to his home and stepping quietly into a dark room that brightened as she entered it. The ceilings were surprisingly low considering the height of everything and everyone else, and the furniture was sized for his Garlean form. Cream-colored walls, dark wood floors, plush carpets, colors accented here and there—all bathed in a golden light—and windows everywhere, opened up to the night sky, to a warm breeze, to a fresh and floral scent.

His house was warm, inviting. Was this place just his current taste or…had it once been their home?

She wandered through each room, soaking in the details that were wholly unfamiliar to her. Wooden furniture with ivory cushions, tables nocked with use, marble tiles, colorful mosaics, gold and crystal chandeliers. A kitchen, a dining room, a study and library, a sitting room, bathing room—and then she found the bedroom.

The bed was in the center of the room against the far wall. The covers were tossed away from the right side, the sheets beneath wrinkled. He had slept here. Or had he? Did Ascians sleep? She had wondered that before. She hadn't asked him and had fallen asleep before she could collect her own data.

She walked to the bed and ran her hand along the fabric. The memory of their night in Amity replayed in her mind and her chest tightened. He had chased both their pleasure tirelessly, thoroughly. She thought of how they had cuddled after, her on his chest, him stroking her back. Intimacy greater and deeper than anything she had experienced with anyone.

One night was all they had.

Her hand squeezed into a fist and she looked away, unable to handle such a depressing thought. Her gaze landed on the artwork above the bed, nestled between two wide, open windows. It was a beautiful slab of dark, glittering crystal that seemed to change hues in the shifting of light and words were carved into it in shining silver, split down two columns.

She read the first line of the first column. _I will love you always._ Next to it looked to be a date of some kind, but she had no idea what kind of calendar system it belonged to. In the column next to it, the words were written in a different scrawl. _I will always love you._ The date, or whatever it was, was the same. Several more lines of beautiful vows were dated and mirrored on the second column.

Movement behind her caused her to turn. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of Solus zos Galvus strolling into the room. It wasn't truly him, of course. Her heart did not jump when their eyes met, only raced in shock and longing. He smiled.

"They were our promises," he said to her and pointed at the crystal slab behind her. "Mine to you, yours to me."

"What are you?" she asked.

"A reflection," he answered. "Nothing more than the other shades who fill this replica. Less, even. That I am active can only mean that my true form is dead, and though I cannot see the color of your soul in this form, that you are here in my sanctuary can only mean that you are _her_." His voice softened. "My beloved."

Her throat tightened and she barely managed a shallow nod. He tilted his head and smirked, though it was curious, not smug.

"You know," he observed and she offered another shallow nod.

"I was your wife," she said in a small voice.

He exhaled in relief and nodded. "I prayed you would remember, or that you would at least know the truth before the end. That is why I created this copy—hope that you would come seeking answers." An ounce of smugness seeped into his smirk. "Seeking me."

She blushed in spite of herself. "You have answers?" she asked.

"Not many, I'm afraid. This was not a very complete creation. I didn't have much time, you see. By the time I knew I needed to create this reflection, it was very nearly too late. And I was very distracted watching you…" He stepped closer to her and her breath trembled as she inhaled. "Finding you was a miracle," he murmured.

"Then why did you betray me?" she rasped.

"Because I had to." He looked over her shoulder at the crystal slab. She turned to read the next line of promises as he spoke. "Because those so-called friends of yours asked you to kill the Lightwardens and you were going to do it, even though it would kill you."

_I will protect you however I can _was written in silver scrawl. The words were mirrored in the second column, both dated the same day.

"Trying to convince you to do otherwise would not have earned your trust," he continued as she read through two more promises to safeguard that both of them had made. "I admit, I wondered if you could hold the light as you were—seven times rejoined. I hesitated…but when I saw how you barely contained the fourth, I knew what I had to do."

S'liya gasped as her eyes fell on the words, _I will do anything to save you, even if it makes me a villain._

"I would have to force your eighth rejoining," he said, "and temper the light in you with the darkness in me."

She was shaking as she flashbacked to that awful day. _I did it for you,_ he had said. _Then…and now._ "H-how?" she stammered. "You were tempered—"

"Because the only alternative would have accomplished my original plan: light would have overwhelmed the world and triggered a rejoining." He gave her a smug smile. "I simply knew that I would fail. All I had to do was force your hand—just like Lahabrea did—at the right moment and you would find the strength to triumph. And you did." He shrugged. "I promised you that I would do anything."

She whirled around to face him, unable to stop shaking. The date on that promise was one she could not recognize, from eons ago. _Then, and now_. "Zodiark?"

He nodded. "You didn't agree with our plan. We argued many times. But as our options dwindled, it became apparent what had to be done." He bowed his head and sighed. "You asked me not to. But I was afraid… I didn't want to lose you. So I promised you, even if it meant becoming a villain in your eyes, that I would do whatever it took to save you."

She couldn't control the trembling in her voice when she asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" He looked at her, mouth twisting into a teasing grin. "That you were my wife?" One of his eyebrows quirked. "That day in the Crystarium, if I had walked up to you and told you who you were, would you have believed me?"

"Not then. But later—"

"Later? When I knew I would have to force you to kill me?" His grin became wry. "Should I have told you that night I embraced you?" He took another step closer to her. "That I wanted you not for any devious or carnal reason, but because you were my wife?" Another. "That I was desperate to be close to you again?" Another. "And after, when we held each other, should I have explained that you were going to die and, tempered as I was, I could do nothing to stop it except to force you to fight and kill me?" He stopped just inches from her, and she had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. "How could I? You have always been so selfless…"

She followed his gaze as they went to the crystal slab behind her. She turned and saw in the second column, dated much later than his promise, was one of her own: _I will become your villain if it means that I can save you._

Had she been one of the naysayers who had summoned Hydaelyn? _I know why you did it,_ he had said. _You wanted to save me._ Tears slipped down her cheeks as she stared at the slab, at the second column that was now empty. She had stopped making promises to him…because she had ceased to exist. Because her soul had been fractured into fourteen fragments.

His promises, however…they kept going, branching into a calendar system that she recognized. Each line brought more tears to her eyes, his desperation and anguish becoming more and more evident.

_I will find you and fix this! Fix everything!_

_I will restore you!_

_I still love you…_

_I will never give up on finding you!_

_I have not stopped loving you, never stopped missing you._

_No matter how long it takes, I'll restore our world, restore you._

Each date skipped through time, a veritable log of his grief and love. And dated just a few days ago…on the day he had died, in the same scrawl as all his other promises, were the words, _I will save you._

S'liya hung her head, buried her face in her hands, and cried, shoulders shaking. He stood silently behind her.

"Wh-why did you stop him?" she asked, words muffled by her palms. "Wh-why did you stop him from taking the light into the Rift?"

"Because I meant what I said when I told you that I have long awaited one strong enough to brave a path of lesser tragedy," he explained. She whirled to face him, eyes wide and cheeks tear-stained. He nodded. "Oh, yes," he said. "I knew. I have known for a long time. But I was tempered. I had no other recourse. But you… You are free and brave and strong. You always have been. But I knew you would have to be stronger. So I couldn't let him take the light. Not when you needed to master it." He nodded once. "And so you have."

"The cost was too high…"

"Perhaps to you," he agreed, "but I was happy to do it. To fulfill one of my promises to you."

"Did you…_want_ to die?"

He tilted his head, eyeing her thoughtfully. "I have lived for a long time with this mission, with this pain… Yes. I was glad to finally die. To be at peace. But having finally found you…" He smiled sadly. "I confess, I was not ready to leave you again."

"If I could save you somehow…if I could bring you back—I don't know how—but if I could, _somehow_, if I could…would you want me to?"

"I don't know," he answered softly. "I did not consider an answer to such a question when I made this copy." He took a deep, unnecessary breath. "I know that I want to touch you again. Hold you again. I want back our stolen years, however beyond our grasp they have become. I want to rest, to sleep, and be at peace. But more than anything, I want you to live. To be whole. To be happy."

Had she ever truly been happy? Before she met him, before she knew about Amaurot, the shattering, who he was…yes, there were moments of happiness. She could have continued the way she was. But now, everything had changed. She felt as though some vital part of her had been ripped out and was lost forever.

"I don't know," she began, "if I can be happy. Not anymore."

"Why not?" he asked gently.

"Were you happy?" she countered. "All these long years, were you happy? When you married those women, sired your children…were you happy?"

A playful smirk teased his mouth. "Jealous, are we—"

"Were you?" she demanded.

He sighed then crossed to an open window, staring out at the city beyond. "I was…content," he confessed, "for a time. Of my wives, some of them I grew fond of. All of my children, I cared for."

She could not help the small spike of jealousy that slashed through her. It was irrational, but it existed. That these women had had him, had even a piece of him, when her rightful time with him had been cut short. Stupid. It was stupid to be jealous. She couldn't even conceive what she was jealous of. She had no memory of being married to him, did not know how long they had been together before the calamity set events into motion that would eventually separate them. A hundred years? A thousand? Longer? She didn't know, yet she was jealous of these ephemeral relationships he had had, in a time before she knew he existed.

"But the only time I was ever happy," he continued, his eyes drifting closed, "was a time before time, when this eager soul met one so radiant and lovely, and swore to love her for eternity. Her mind was an oasis, so bright and warm and brilliant she was. There was not a single man nor woman who met her that did not adore her. She challenged me daily and, together, we created such beauty and innovation." He sighed then softly added, "Our long years together were always too short. But paradise could not last forever…"

She went to the window and stood beside him, gazing out at Amaurot. It was a poor reflection of the once magnificent reality, but it was still breathtakingly beautiful. A lesser dream of paradise.

"Nothing ever does," she said.

"No," he agreed, "I suppose it never did." He turned to face her and offered one last smirk. "But for as close to forever as any singular being has existed, I have loved you."

He reached for her. As his hand passed through hers, his image faded and he was gone. The warm breeze tousled her hair as hot tears slipped silently down her cheeks. Nothing could last forever, not paradise, not even its pale reflection. But she had his answers, and as much truth as she needed to make a decision. And now she knew what she had to do.

Beside her, the crystal slab began to glow and silver lettering scrawled across the second column as she opened her mouth and made him a promise.

The End


End file.
